Our Last day in Paris

The eight day in Paris was spent in what was the most photographed part of the trip for me; the visit to the iconic Pere Lachaise cemetery. Where it may seem morbid or even a bit macabre of me I couldn’t help but be fascinated by all of the important and memorable people that are forever in this cemetery. Politicians and musicians lay side by side to grand family crypts. To me Pere Lachaise is a lasting and poignant reminder of the history of Paris. So much of the trouble past of the city can be seem represented along the winding roads of the cemetery. The memorial to the last of the French Commune fighters on the wall that they were killed stands as a signpost to the bloody struggle the citizens of the city have endured. One feature that I found to be surprisingly moving were the monuments to those killed in the Nazi concentration camps. Each of the major camps had a large monument to those who lost their lives to Nazi hands. What made these memorials so moving was the style that they all were in. These were not cheerful memories of lost loved ones; instead they all represented the pain and inhuman treatment that was received by those that were imprisoned there. All of monuments to the prisoners showed scenes of hunger and fatigue, often showing the manner in which the prisoners at that camp were tortured. These monuments make it clear the true injustices that were faced by those that the Nazis took; with these symbols of struggle and inhuman treatment it is still surprising to me that there could be anyone who doubted that these atrocities ever happened.
I have always been one to want to lead the rock and roll lifestyle so my trip to Pere Lachaise wouldn’t have felt complete without a visit to Morrison’s grave. I had a list of those that I wanted to visit such as Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein and Chopin, but Morrison was always on the back of my mind. His tomb has become such a mecca of sorts for those who are struggling to hold onto the last glimmers of rock. The other graves on my little mental list were all interesting and moving (Oscar Wilde’s a bit surprising, all of those kisses!) but my visit to Jim’s grave just left me angry. There have always been stories of people leaving tributes to The Doors and Morrison himself, things like bottles of Jack Daniels and joints have become part of rock lore; the desecration of his grave and those surrounding has not. I was shocked and saddened to see that the bust of Morrison from the top of his headstone had been stolen and that a metal fence has had to have been put up to protect the stone. How sad that the state of the world has come to this. Aren’t the days of grave robbers far behind us? As I stood looking somewhat sadly at the grave of a rock legend and the graffiti on the surrounding stones, Jason commented that nothing that Morrison did in his life is worth this: And I have to say that I agree. I can’t imagine that Morrison would approve of this behavior either and would want something more for his memory than vandalized gravestones.
We spent our last full night in Paris saying goodbye to her. We all chipped in the last of our Euros and bought as much wine and champagne as we could carry. We spent the night recalling stories from the trip and drinking copious amounts of French wine. What a way to end a trip taken at break neck speed. The cemetery and the wine gave a feeling of conclusion to the trip that made it feel like everything to be done had been done. We had seen everything from the beginnings of the revolution to the final resting place of some of the city’s most famous inhabitants. In a terribly cliché way, we had come full circle. Leaving Paris is a strange feeling. I fell in love with the city in the way that you always read about Americans doing. I felt unsure about going back to a world of drive-thru restaurants and 44 oz sodas, but still ready to go back somewhere that is familiar and comfortable. Paris seems to get under your skin and leave you with mixed feeling whenever it is time to leave. I will miss the museums and architecture (and inexpensive, fantastic wine) and in a strange way the people. I had no problems with the notorious “rude French attitude”, what I met was a huge metropolitan city filled with people that really live there and spend their lives surrounded by all of the things that I was so taken by. What is nice about this situation is that the people that live there seem to really appreciate everything that they have around them and do their best to enjoy the city around them; even more than I did on my brief stay there.

And on the seventh day we read Hugo.

The morning of our seventh day in Paris is one from an English major’s dreams. After a quick pop by our favorite pastry shop we took the metro over to Notre Dame to read from Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame. We sat in the gardens behind the cathedral and read Hugo’s detailed and oh so Gothic description of the church itself. During the lecture I was surprised to find out that Notre Dame was once in danger of being torn down. To someone of my generation and nationality it seems unthinkable, a Paris without Notre Dame, it would be like a Paris without the Eiffel tower (which was apparently also in risk being taken down!) There are elements of the city that are what shape Paris in the eyes of an outsider; things that help to define what Paris is to someone who is not there. Notre Dame, to me, has always been one of those buildings. When thinking of the architecture of the building the mind tends to bring up images of the grand flying buttresses around the nave of the building and the famous stained glass rose windows; during the lecture it was discussed that all of the gargoyles and the tall gothic spire are all 18th century additions to the church in order to make it seem more “gothic”. I had heard this bit of information before the trip, but to actually see the building in life and be able to really get an idea of the scale and detail of the original parts of the building makes this “need” seem all the more absurd. I am amazed to imagine someone thinking that it needed more elements, gothic or not, to make it worth saving. Reading Victor Hugo in the shadow of Notre Dame gave the selection such life; as the details were read aloud it was possible to look up and note them for your self and add them to the world that the words had already begun to shape in your mind.
After Notre Dame the group went to take pictures in a place that seemed to be built for just that purpose. The square at Trocadéro is perhaps on of the greatest views of the Eiffel tower available from that side of the river. The large stone pavilion makes for a perfect frame for photographs with the Eiffel tower at your back. While we were there, taking thank you and I love you pictures for the folks back home, I couldn’t help but notice that most everyone there was doing something very similar. There was a Spanish couple who, from as best as I can guess, were tango dancers; they took pictures doing turns and poses in front of the tower. There was a fashion photographer taking pictures of a caterpillar eyed girl in stiletto boots jumping for the camera; but most of all I heard group photos being arranged in dozens of languages and saw everyone smiling for the photo in front of this symbol of Paris.
The evening of the seventh day was another spent in a dream-like setting. It was the 21st birthday of a friend that was along on the trip, so went back to the base of the Eiffel tower and drank champagne (excuse me “sparking wine”) in the park at the base of the tower. We took pictures and watched in sparkle while we toasted the birthday fun. What an ending to a hectic day, one that only Paris could offer to you.

Day Six: A free day spent well

The sixth day that we spent in Paris was a well welcomed free day. This was the first chance that I was able to sleep in (which is always nice) and explore the city at my own leisure. Since the free day fell on a Sunday, a group of the other students and I decided to spend a Sunday morning as the Parisians do. After a quick stop at the pastry shop for tarts and quiche we walked to the Luxembourg gardens near the hotel to enjoy the morning. The gardens were a decidedly good choice for a way to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon. The gardens were full of Parisians reading in the sunshine or just sitting on the lawns, this was a great experience to see how the residents of the city spend their free time. The most notable difference in the Luxembourg Gardens and parks of that size in America was the relaxed and quite attitude of all of the people in the park. Other than the occasion excited child, the park was blessedly quite and relaxed. No one was on their mobile phone talking loudly, no angsty teens being loud just to be noticed. This is one thing that I have noticed about Paris that is a striking difference than life in the States; people are not yelling to be heard over one another all of the time. Even in a park full of people it remained surprisingly tranquil. While we strolled in the park (how clique of me, but that is what we did!) we came across the large fountain in the middle of the gardens, in this fountain children sailed model sailboat in a ridiculously picturesque fashion. Really it seemed like something out of a movie romanticizing the city, but there they were with their little boats guiding them along with long sticks.
After the morning in the park the group decided to go to Montmartre to do the incredibly touristy thing and look at the sites from the film Amelie and to see the rumored incredible views of Paris from the Sacre Coeur’s look out point. After about 200 steps straight up from the metro stop we wandered into the artist’s square at the top of the butte. This was another of those iconic places in Paris that seem so familiar from seeing them in countless movies, artists sketched tourist men played accordions and everyone was outside in the square laughing, drinking and eating. We stopped and had lunch in a small café and all felt very French while we ate out crepes and watched the activity in the square. The activity of the square was however no match for the bustle of people around the Sacre Coeur basilica’s base. On the steps around the lookout point there were countless numbers of both tourists and Parisians alike enjoying the view and listening to the musicians play on the stairs. After seeing the view of the city from the top (not to mention the basilica itself) I can understand why it is such a popular stop, to top of the butte gives you a wide sweeping view of the city and many of the landmarks can be clearly seen in a spectacular panoramic. One thing about Paris that is both strange and somewhat enduring is the mix of emotions that so many of the places evoke. While enjoying the views of the city and the beauty of the basilica, I was a little overwhelmed by the amount of tourist based activity all over the city. It was hard to make your way down the stairs to the base of the park by the carousel due to all of the people snapping pictures (I am guilty of that as well) and the hawkers pushing you at every step to buy their Eiffel tower figures or to let them braid a string bracelet on your wrist (for a mere 10 Euros that is). I guess that this is the double edged sword of any city that has embraced the tourist culture. It is a fine balancing act to maintain the beauty and nature of the city that the people are coming to see and still make it somewhere that caters to those looking for the Disney side of things.
We headed back to the hotel and joined the group going to Notre Dame to see the sights and make a stop at what is possibly the greatest bookstore of all time, Shakespeare and Company. After I realized that I cannot buy everything in the shop we ended the night by drinking enough wine to make us giggle and going on an evening stroll through our neighborhood. The neighborhood turned to the block and from there we just walked. Our night time adventure lead us to find a beautiful building, complete with a moat (very exciting to tipsy American eyes) and to be able to see what the city does outside of the tourist spots. Our winding through the nighttime streets did result in what may have been the best part of the trip. We turned a corner and found ourselves at the base of the Eiffel tower; we didn’t even know we were on the correct side of the river to see it. We had just enough time to settle onto the grass before it started to sparkle. I will again say that it is the accidental discoveries that made Paris so amazing, no matter what corner you turn there always seems to be something magical to see.

Day Five: Revolution and Nouveau

The fifth day in Paris was an educational on for me. The group went to the Carnavalet Museum; the museum that focuses on the history of the city of Paris. This was another amazing museum that served as a surprisingly educational experience for me. We began our tour of the museum in the section dedicated to the French Revolution. This floor of the museum acted as home to the relics of the first and following French revolutions. The fact that there were paintings depicting all of the different stages of the beginnings of the French Revolution; including paintings from the early stages when it seemed the monarchy was still on board. This, to me, is a great symbol of the attitude that the French, the Parisians especially, hold about their home’s sorted and bloody history. To me it seemed that the museum strove to depict the whole story of the revolution, from the early deception to the amazing actions of the revolutionaries. The paintings in the Carnavalet told the incredible story of the shaping of the governing class of France. One thing that I found interesting was the collection of person items belonging to important figures the museum had on hand. They had on display items ranging from Maximilien Robespierre’s shaving bowl to locks of hair from the royal family; all carefully displayed. This was so interesting to me because it was such a complete collection they were able to preserve. With all of these items on hand they will always be able to hold onto their history and the people involved. I had a general knowledge of the events leading up to and involving the French revolution, but being surrounded by so many examples of what was actually involved in the uprising and later activities brought a definitive life to the history. While in the revolutionary section of the museum we read selections from The Rights of Man, an important French revolutionary document with a title familiar to American ears. Being in the museum and being able to see the history unfold also made it far clearer to me, as an American, the relationship that America shares with France in regards to the revolutions of our respective countries.
The revolutionary items were only one section of the Carnavalet museum; the others continued on with the remaining history of the city. The amazing array of items they had on hand only continued to amaze me; from Napoleon’s death mask to Voltaire’s writing chair. I am always so impressed by the things that survive from generation to generation. Most of the most intriguing displays in museums are the everyday items that were once a part of someone’s life. These items are the best clues we have today of the lives that people lead in times other than our own. On ground floor there was something that I found to be simply divine and wonderful for me. There was a beautiful example of Art Nouveau architecture in a Parisian jewelry shop, in its entirety, in the museum. Art Nouveau is my favorite artistic movement and the furniture is a personal love of mine. The façade of the building was decorated with Alphonse Mucha’s ladies (my all time favorite artist!!) and the signature nouveau script while the inside had all of the display cases and fixtures surrounded by stained glass; I was a kid in an elegant candy store

Day Four in Paris: Catacombs and Ice Cream

The fourth day we spent in Paris was perhaps my favorite. This was the day that we went to the catacombs. The catacombs are an experience that is hard to put into words. As you descend down a narrow, winding staircase a mile under the streets of Paris the mind can not help to wonder what it is that you have in store through the archway, warning you that you are entering the kingdom of the dead. Once inside the Ossuary part of the catacombs you find yourself surrounded by the bones of countless Parisians. Pictures of the bones do it no justice; it truly is a kingdom of the dead. What is most amazing about the catacombs, other than the sheer volume of bones, is the obvious care that went into arranging them down there. The remains were stacked neatly, often times in patterns of crosses or simple geometric designs. This careful arrangement along with the numerous marble plaques with poetry or quotations on them gives the area a respectful feeling and keeps it from being simply macabre. It is clear that the Parisians have taken time to make the catacombs something more than a tourist attraction or a simple pile of bones; it has become a testament to the struggle and death that Paris has endured and that it has finally come out of in this last century. As we walked along the bone-lined path (the only one opened to avoid getting lost in the maze of tunnels and remains) we read poetry on death and dying. What an experience to hear the words of Victor Hugo while surrounded by such scenery. I will post pictures taken while in the catacombs but let me stand assured that they will in no way capture what it is like to really be down there with them, to be so close to so much of the history of the city.
The second half of my fourth day in Paris was spent in the iconic Café de Flore where, rumor has it, Simone de Beauvoir and Sartre would meet to discuss existentialism. It is only suitable then that we spent the day discussing De Beauvoir’s essay The Second Sex, and what it means to be a woman while dining on delicious French ice cream. The group, composed primarily of female grad students (with the exception of two brave men) had varying ideas of what it is that defines a woman. Is it simply a womb that makes one a woman or I there something more, something deeper that determines what you are? The conversation was made more interesting by the various age groups and lifestyles of the collected students. I, being a life member of the “no-baby club” had a very different idea of what it is that being a woman means. Others in the group discussed motherhood as the ultimate goal post for femininity while I struggled to refute that it is merely biochemistry that causes that feeling of correctness with a new child and that mothering is more for survival of the species that a definition of womanhood. In the end, like with many Socratic discussions, we came to no real decision on what it means to be a woman; I think however, that that was the intended outcome for the discussion. Not to come to any real answer, but to instead look at the question from all possible angle and learn more from our inquiry than by any real solution.

Paris Day Three The Louvre

Our Third day in Paris was both a sad and happy one for me. We were scheduled to go to the Louvre, the mother of all museums, and I couldn’t have been more excited for the experience. Unfortunately fate was not smiling on me that day and I found myself throwing up the entire morning of our expedition. Determined to see the Louvre I went along anyway, in hindsight probably not the best choice I could have made. I was barely in the museum a few moments when I began to feel sick again. But since I am nothing if not determined I went on into the museum anyway. What I found to be most impressive about the Louvre was that even though I was barely functioning I found myself surrounded by an unbelievable array of art. As we wandered through the countless rooms and exhibits I discovered that I was focusing on the art surrounding me and not the terrible way I felt. The most surreal part of being in the Louvre for me was when I turned a corner and found myself a mere ten feet from the Venus De Milo. It is an amazing feeling to accidentally find something so iconic to art in the western world. One can not come within 30 yards of the Mona Lisa without being told as much by signs with arrows pointing her way and swarms of tourists armed with cameras, but no such pomp existed for the Venus de Milo; we simply found ourselves face to face with her (well face to hip as the case may be). We must have arrived at just the right time since there were very few tourists in the area and were able to really get a look at her. I must have felt something like the peasant that first found her in some forgotten temple in Milos, taken back by the beauty of this chance discovery. I have always thought the statue was beautiful and it was on my mental list of things that I wanted to see while at the Louvre, but to just stumble upon her when simply looking for the bathroom was a moment to be remembered.
I often fear that I am strange, and after careful consideration I have decided that I really don’t care. I say this only because the exhibit that I was most looking forward to seeing while in the Louvre was their impressive collection of Egyptian art and artifacts. I had to laugh to myself as I attempted to navigate myself through rooms of countless European paintings (while in Europe no less) to go and look at bits of plates and sarcophagi of a long dead empire from thousands of miles away. What can I say, like many children of my generation I was always blown away by anything Egypt. My favorite episodes of Reading Rainbow or PBS specials were always on mummies or pyramids (I just dated myself didn’t I?) This trip to the Louvre was the first chance that I have ever had to be around a large collection of Egyptian art, other than small traveling exhibits that I have been to at other museums in the States, and I have to say that it was one of the more impressive of my museum-life experiences. I am glad now, looking back, that I went ahead and at least attempted to see what I could see while at the Louvre and just work through my health problems that day. Even though I was only able to stay in the museum for a few short hours, I was able to see pieces of art and history that I may never have the chance to see again. This is one of the most amazing things about being in a city that has the kind of history that Paris has. It allows visitors to discover something new and beautiful around every corner, sometimes even by accident.

Paris Day Two

The second day of our trip took us to several locations, each giving a very different view of the difference in the lifestyles of the common man and the aristocracy in France. The first stop on our trip was to Sainte Chapelle. This medieval church with its breathtaking architecture and stained glass made it clear to me the feelings of awe that parishioners must have felt when they entered the grand cathedral. The moment we arrived into the main chapel and saw the beautiful windows after the narrow, winding staircase was truly stunning. This monument built for the people to see the wonder of God was impressive for me, someone accustomed to flashy modern life, must have been quite a sight for medieval eyes, unused to such grandeur in everyday life. The wonder from the beauty of Sainte Chapelle was still fresh on my mind when we arrived at our second location, only a few steps away. The Conciergerie is another beautiful building. Its high, domed ceilings give the main chamber a majestic look, one that seems to disguise the true nature of the building. After we left the main room (and made our way through the requisite gift shop) we found our self in the cells of the French revolutionary prisoners. This part of the building has been turned into something of a museum, with the cells made up to look like they would have for prisoners; complete with dummies in period dress wallowing in their cells. The exhibit also included many items that belonged to or were related to important people of the French Revolution. Perhaps, for me at least, the most interesting and telling of all of the exhibits in the prison was the treatment of the cell that Marie Antoinette spent her last days. The cell was not much different than the others we saw but what they have done to it since is very interesting. The cell that she was held in has been turned in to a chapel of sorts; complete with velvet drapery and grand adornments. I can’t help but find irony in the fact that they have changed a cell that could arguably stand as a monument for the end of the excess of the aristocracy and have turned it into a richly appointed holy place. It is enough to make one wonder.
The trip to Versailles in the second half of our second day was defiantly one to remember. As most young people of my age I have seen the Sofia Coppola movie, Marie Antoinette. This film gave a very sympathetic view of the life of Marie Antoinette and the reasons for her actions. In the film Coppola tried to show the audience that Marie was just a young girl when she came to Versailles and that many of the supposed antics that lead up to her trip to the guillotine were something that she was forced into out of duty or boredom. I enjoyed the film and thought that the director did a good job of making the life of Marie Antoinette into an amusing and interesting film, but my trip to the palace somewhat reassured the idea that I held about Antoinette prior to seeing the film. The part of the trip that I feel was most reflective of the attitude the aristocracy had about the peasants was her Hameau, the queen’s model village on the palace grounds. This was the little play ground that Marie Antoinette had built for herself so she could escape the trappings of her lavish lifestyle and try to get back to Rousseau’s idea of nature. I think that the Hameau, even more than the grand opulence of the palace itself, show how little care the aristocracy had for the common man. In the Hameau Marie Antoinette and her friends dressed as shepherdesses and tended perfumed sheep and docile cows “just like the peasantry”. I was truly surprised to find that the buildings that stand in the “village” today are the same that Marie herself played in. I think that if I were a revolutionary peasant storming the palace, this mockery of the peasant’s struggle would have been the first to go. But then again I always love a little anarchy and what better way to show my peasant disapproval of the frivolous ways of the aristocracy than by taking away their toys.